The Lavender Incident
by Bitcrusher
Summary: A man is kidnapped by a deranged psychopathic scientist who's obsessed with Pokemon. More specifically, the rumored "Lavender Town Syndrome". This is the story of how they die. WARNING: GRAPHIC, LOTS OF PROFANITY
1. Journal (Chapter 1)

**JOURNAL**

I'm writing this letter because I honestly believe I am going to die here. I don't know what will happen to me, but I just want to record the events that have happened to me in case anyone finds this.

(Background info: My name is Ron Peterson. I'm 22 years old and I live in Tacoma, Washington.)

I remember the events that transpired today remarkably well. This morning I was sitting alone in my apartment watching TV, when there was a knock at the door. Well, more of an anxious, impatient pounding. I got up to answer it and, when I opened the door, in front of me stood this ragged, meth-head-looking guy, with shaggy, messed-up hair and a hunched-over posture. The guy's clothes looked like he hadn't washed them in a year and his skin was all pitted and scabby. It seemed that he had been picking at it. A lot.

"Um... Yes?" I greeted nervously.

This abomination of humankind just stood there, hunched, staring at me. Other than a deep, nasally breathing, he stayed silent. He simply stood, swaying slightly, his eyes wide like a goddamn zombie. Then the creepiest thing happened.

His mouth slowly morphed into a smile.

I stood there, confused and terrified, at whatever the hell was on my doorstep.

And then, quick as lighting, he pulled out a discolored washrag and thrusted it against my face. The fucker was chloroforming me!

I tried to hold my breath once I realized what it was, but it was too late, for the initial gasp of shock was all it took. I quickly blacked out.

Later I woke up in what I assume was the back of a van or something. I had some sort of black sheet or sack over my head, preventing me from seeing, but I could feel the motion and the bumps in the road. I nearly threw up, which wouldnt do jack for smell. We stumbled down some stairs and into a very cold room, possibly a basement. I tried to speak to this sorry excuse for a human being, but the velvet sack prevented me from expressing any intelligible language.

Suddenly he fiddled with something on the back of my neck - probably untying the sack - and pulled it off of my head. Before I could react, a hard object slammed into my back and sent me flying off of a small stone platform near the door and onto the concrete floor. I slid a few feet across the floor, the wind knocked out of me. A door behind me slammed shut as I lay there, facedown, struggling to regain my breath. When I finally did I flipped over onto my back and took several deep breaths. I then sat up and examined my surroundings.

As I suspected before, I was in a basement lit only by a single dim lightbulb that hung suspended from the ceiling. The room was empty, save for the built-in water heater in the corner (though it looked too old and rusted to actually still work), a couple of cardboard boxes sitting against the wall opposite the door, and some weird black boxes that were attached to the corners of the ceiling. They look like speakers.

* * *

I'm still sitting here in this cold, dimly-lit basement as I write this. I'm pretty terrified. I hope, if something happens to me, that whoever's reading this can hunt down this sick bastard. I guess I'll try to sleep now.

* * *

God dammit, I can't fucking sleep.


	2. Journal (Chapter 2)

I can't begin to explain how horrified I am about today's events. I feel nauseous just thinking about it. Or maybe it's just that ringing in my ears causing it. I finally fell asleep an hour after writing my last sentence in this letter. I'm not sure how long I slept, but it didn't feel like long.

I woke up to a very sweet, pleasant smell. I opened my eyes and found myself lying on the concrete, the dim lightbulb still casting an eerie glow on my prison. Everything was the same as when I went to sleep.

Except there was a plate of pancakes resting a few feet away from me.

Having not eaten anything since yesterday, my mouth watered as i stared at the three fluffy pancakes stacked on top of a ceramic plate and covered in syrup. Next to the plate was even a fork and a glass of water. But I knew better. I was positive this was a trap. The pancakes were probably poisoned. I sat there for about an hour, staring at the plate of pancakes, as they got colder and colder. Eventually hunger took over my mind and I decided to take the risk, since I was probably going to die here anyway. I cautiously crawled towards the plate, picked up the fork and cut a small piece of a pancake. I inspected the piece. It didn't seem the least bit suspicious, so I tried it. After finishing the piece, I waited a while before daring to try another, waiting for any side effects; dizziness, nausea, drowsiness, etc. After five minutes, I felt perfectly normal, so I gracefully proceeded to stuff my face with pancakes. They tasted genuinely amazing. The food was gone three minutes later (In hindsight, I probably should have savored it). I washed it down with the glass of water.

Several hours passed. I sat there in the dim light, staring blankly at nothing to pass the time, when suddenly a loud pop broke the silence. I was startled at the sudden noise, being it the first aural sensation I experienced during my time here that was not caused by myself. "Hello?!" I screamed. "Let me out, you sick bastard! Whoever you are, let me out!"

Another pop emitted from somewhere, followed by a continuous mechanical hum. I noticed that the black boxes in the corners of the ceiling now had little red LED lights glowing on them. So they really are speakers, I thought. I was right. I waited for a response. A full minute passed.

"No." A voice replied with a deep, gravelly undertone.

So my captor had a voice after all. "Show yourself!" I commanded, my outward anger hopefully masking my inner fear.

Another pause. "No."

"Who are you?" I asked.

I'm not sure if the voice laughed, or it was simply static from the speakers. "As if you don't know who I am, Ketchum." He growled, and he spat the last word like poison.

"Catch.. Um? What? No, I don't know who you are." I was beyond confused.

"It's Ketchum, you idiot! Not catch-um! Don't you know your own name?!"

"My name is Ron Peterson! I don't know who you are or what you want, but I-"

"You are lying."

What? "What?" I vocalized.

"I told you I would be better than you. I told all of you..." the man yelled, in a somewhat desperate voice. "But you never listened! You laughed at me!"

"Who are you?" I asked again.

This time it was definitely a maniacal chuckle that emerged from the speakers on the ceiling. "Oak. Gary Oak."

I am sorry but what no I am done.

"Like... From Pokémon?"

I had played the original game a couple times and beaten it once, and I watched the anime as a kid, so I knew enough about Pokémon to know who Gary Oak was. But he's fictional. This guy's a madman.

"I wanted to be the best Pokémon trainer of all time, and I was gonna do it, too! But nobody believed me. You laughed at me, Peterson."

"So now we're on real-name terms? What changed your-"

"You said I was a delusional little nerd," he continued. "An insignificant insect? Well..." The voice made a small chuckle. "Now who's the insect?"

A realization struck me. "Oh my god. Are you Terrence McCormick?"

"Do not use that name! That is not who I am anymore!" he screamed.

Terrence was a Pokémon supernerd in high school. He hung around in the geekiest of groups and brought his custom Pokémon card deck every day to battle at lunch. I can remember him saying something like, "When I grow up, I'm gonna be a Pokémon master!" at one point. The poor kid was just asking to get bullied. And sure enough, bullies went after him like moths to a flame.

And, unfortunately, I was one of those bullies. I only bullied the kid because I had finally found someone who was weaker than me. I dealt with bullying a lot and it was nice to finally direct the attention to someone else. I never did it because I enjoyed it, only to be in the safe zone with the bullies, so to speak.

Poor kid... He went nuts.

"What do you want with me?" I asked.

"You are going to serve as a lab rat. Time to initiate the test."

"What?! What test?" I was very alarmed now.

He didn't answer. Instead, a third pop emerged from the speakers, and the humming seemed to get louder. It stopped. The room was silent for a moment.

And then the music started.

It was the strangest music I've ever heard. It was some kind of 8-bit track. The melody sounded a bit like the theme to Lavender Town from Pokémon Red, but this version was just... Different. The frequencies weren't controlled and easy to shrug off like the normal version. No, this one sounded like it was made deliberately for hurting people's ears. The high pitched frequencies were unbearable, and at the volume Terrence played it at, I bet dogs in the next county could hear it.

At one point, the music resounded four notes over and over, going up one octave each time, first at a typical 8-bit square wave pitch, then up to a very uncomfortable level, then a dog whistle level. Directly afterwards there was a medium-low-pitched loud buzz, that exploded and faded out. Then the song looped. My ears wanted to explode and my head was pounding. The horrible noise continued to play over and over. I'm not sure why I keep referencing it in past tense. It's still fucking playing. Same volume as before. Somehow I managed to block it out so I could write this. I don't know when he's gonna stop it, but I hope it's soon.

* * *

God, make it stop! It's been hours! Please...


	3. Journal (Chapter 3)

He's still playing it. Over and over. I think it's been a day now since he started playing it.

* * *

It's been a couple days. No food. Really hungry.

* * *

I finally passed out, and when I woke up, there were more pancakes. I ate them. Yum..

* * *

It's been five days since the pancakes. Music still playing. Its not that bad. Kinda catchy...

* * *

Ijsna. Ssnjn n Π`√~¥¢


	4. Notes (Chapter 4)

**Oak's Notes**

* * *

February 2nd, 2012

The subject has been obtained. I have contained him in the holding cell. He shows surprising amounts of compliance and little aggression, most likely due to fear. He appears to be writing a note or letter of some sort. Most likely a journal. I'll let him rest for a day before initiating the test.

* * *

February 3rd, 2012

The pretest went successfully. The subject ate the pancakes cautiously, like an animal, but after discovering they were untainted, the subject devoured it, like an animal. He drank the glass of water afterwards.

After preparing the speakers for the test, I spoke to the subject. He argued with me. Even in entrapment it dared to speak my name. Vile scum.

The test was then initiated. The subject is confused. He appears to be studying the music. Turning all channels to level 6. No effect. I turned Treble to maximum. It made a large difference in the subject's behavior. He appears to be in pain. He's writing in his journal again. The test will be continued for a duration of thirty days, recording results at every milestone.

* * *

February 6th, 2012

Another serving of food and water was offered to the subject. He wasted no time consuming them. So far, test inconclusive. Run for longer until results are gained.

* * *

February 7th, 2012

Fascinating! The subject's brainwaves seem to have slowed down to the point that the passage of time is altered in his perception. From my hypothesis, the subject believes it has only been a couple of days since his arrival, while already nearly a week has passed!

* * *

February 8th, 2012

The subject's journal entries have been both scarcer and shorter in length, from my observation. Interesting.

* * *

February 9th, 2012

The subject did not consume the pancakes and water today. It seems to have given up hope of escape. My original theory may be correct! I just have to wait until morning to be sure.

* * *

February 10th, 2012

Sure enough, the subject has not touched the pancakes or water. It simply sits there, back against the wall, staring blankly into nothingness. I attempted to speak to the subject by turning off the music but it had no reaction. I turned the music back on. Awaiting further data.

* * *

February 11th, 2012

The subject has not moved from its previous position. It appears... Dead inside.

* * *

February 12th, 2012

I woke up to find the subject dead this morning. A pencil was jammed in its neck and it bled out. I checked the footage from the night before and found quite disturbing results. There the subject sat, staring into darkness, when it suddenly looked down at its legs, possibly contemplating. It then turned its head directly towards the camera, which seemed impossible because I was under the impression that the subject could not see the hidden cameras, and when it turned its head it looked right at me. Then the subject smiled. An innocent, child like smile, with strange, empty eyes. And then it grabbed the pencil next to its journal, and thrusted it into its own throat. It sat, bleeding, and toppled over after a few seconds. It bled out and died.

Test conclusive. Theory proven.

Lavender Town Syndrome confirmed.


	5. Report (Epilogue)

**PIERCE COUNTY POLICE DEPT OFFICIAL REPORT **

On Sat, Feb 25, 2012, at approximately 12:15 AM, our K9 unit detected high frequencies coming from a suburban home during a patrol. We investigated to find the door unlocked. The high frequency music was confirmed to be coming from the residence. I investigated the locked basement, where the music seemed to be stemming from, while my partner examined a room to the right of it, where he suspected the controls were.

After disabling the door, I found that it indeed led to the basement, where inside lay a man in his mid-twenties, later identified as Ron Peterson, 22, who was assumed to be trapped inside. He was found dead, a writing utencil jammed in his throat, assumingly by his own hands. My partner quickly shut off the music after discovering the controls, and found the hanged body of a man inside the room, identified as Terrence McCormick, who was previously wanted for the kidnap and mistreatment of small animals.

Upon further investigation, we found notes in McCormick's control room. McCormick seemingly set up a torture chamber in the basement, using aural torture on Peterson, testing him for a month to study how his habits change. Every five days McCormick would feed Peterson a plate of exactly three pancakes, topped with maple syrup, and a glass of water. The notes show Peterson's mental deterioration from his arrival to his suicide.

The aural torture device is identified by McCormick in his notes as "Lavender Town Green Beta Theme".

A journal kept by Peterson was also found in the basement, next to his body. They explained Peterson's experience with McCormick and his description of the events.

Both the journal and the notes will be included in this report.

**Report organized by Officer Frank Norman, Pierce County Police Dept.**


End file.
